


A Return to Light Duties

by alliedwolves



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, And Jonah is Intrigued and Fascinated by that, Creepy Tenderness, Essentially: Martin remembers enough of Barnabas's life after the Unknowing Showdown that sometimes, Magnusquerade, Memory Alteration, Mind Manipulation, Other, he foggily understands himself as Barnabas Bennett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27257101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliedwolves/pseuds/alliedwolves
Summary: *Only one thing was familiar here. Jonah. He was here, and Barnabas didn’t know and didn’t care how this had come to pass. Irrelevant to him were the toothed fastenings that kept his trousers shut, the horseless carriages, the too-fast and unenunciated way of speaking that everyone here but Jonah had.*After the Unknowing, and having Barnabas's memories foisted into him, Martin is a bit... adrift.ORBarnabas keeps waking up in a strange place, and the only thing that's remained constant is Jonah Magnus. There are worse fates. Jonah appreciates having his lover back, even in this strange form.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Martin Blackwood & Jonah Magnus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31
Collections: The_Magnusquerade





	A Return to Light Duties

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the Excellent Nevanna, and takes place after the Unknowing and during Jon's coma, so reading Nevanna's Envisioned Scenarios and Proactive Contingencies first is highly recommended

He didn’t know where he was. Everything was so  _ loud.  _ It had been so long since the outside world was loud. Only parties, with their flurry of powerful vampires and captivated thralls alike still held that sense of the outside world, paradoxically holding that vast sense of purpose within the cold grey stone of Moorland House.

Only one thing was familiar here. Jonah. He was here, and Barnabas didn’t know and didn’t  _ care _ how this had come to pass. Irrelevant to him were the toothed fastenings that kept his trousers shut, the horseless carriages, the too-fast and unenunciated way of speaking that everyone here but Jonah had.

Through some strange and confusing, painful miracle, Barnabas was here and so too was Jonah. 

Barnabas had been on his way somewhere, if the files in his hands were any indication. He didn’t remember. There were a lot of blank spaces in his mind, these nights. He stood in front of a door which, while it may have had the wrong nameplate, nonetheless held the right man behind it. He knocked on the door. He clutched the files to his chest, heedless of how they crumpled, silently hoping that Jonah would see him. Hoping even that Jonah would See into him.

“Enter, and shut the door behind you,” came Jonah’s voice, the selfsame voice that he remembered, one of so few points of maintained reference in whatever strange second chance Barnabas had been given. Shifting the documents into the crook of his arm, Barnabas took the door handle in one suddenly clammy hand.

Whatever strange magic had brought him here, had side-effects Barnabas did not entirely understand. He found his legs did not want to take him inside to where the man he had loved so dearly awaited him. He found himself quite caught in the throes of sudden anxiety. These were for Melanie, not Jonah, and he had to  _ leave. _

(Although he couldn’t quite picture Melanie’s face, or remember her request.)

Something --someone? -- within him tried to step back, hazily sure this was a bad idea, even if he had no idea what he’d been doing, when a feeling like a gentle grip took hold of his mind.

_ Come in, my boy. _

It wasn’t quite like when Jonah ordered him to be still. Jonah was not of the Web, and his powers were far more subtle than that of the puppeteers. Nonetheless, Barnabas found himself opening the door, entering the room, and shutting the door decisively behind him.

Jonah had set aside his work, rising from his chair and coming to meet Barnabas with movements far too swift to be merely human. Deftly, he took the files from Barnabas’s unresisting arms, placing them in an open drawer that he swiftly locked. For some reason, Barnabas felt a swift pang of regret before once again Jonah was just  _ there,  _ in his mind.

Barnabas came to attention, a stance along drilled into him by his master, Mordechai Lukas. His arms hung loosely at his side, the better that Jonah might take them and lift his wrist to his mouth if he chose, head tilted ever so slightly back. Where once, this would have put him looking up at Jonah, this no longer appeared to be the case. Instead, he felt, rather than saw, Jonah pace around him, drinking in the tableau that he made like he might soon drink his blood.

“There will be time for that,” Jonah said, leaving Barnabas where he stood. Barnabas was very good, and very well trained and stood still maintaining his position as Jonah made bottles and glass tinkle behind him. After a brief moment, Jonah stepped back into Barnabas’s line of sight, pressing a snifter of what seemed to be brandy into his hand.

“I don’t suppose you will complain about the tannins, will you, my boy?” Jonah laughed at some joke to which Barnabas was not privy, as he took Barnabas’s other hand to seat them both down on a large, plush green lounge.

And yet, his question summoned a stray memory of Jonah smiling, handing Barnabas a glass of wine, and calling him by a name ( _ Martin _ ) that wasn’t his ( _ or was it? _ ) Before he could wonder any further, Jonah intruded on his thoughts again.

_ Settle yourself at my feet, lovely boy. I have a few more things to read, and by the time I am done with them, you ought to be deliciously done with the brandy. _

Barnabas sat down at once, settling on his knees at Jonah’s feet. He daringly leant against Jonah’s leg, and was rewarded with both a chuckle, and a hand tousling his hair. He could feel Jonah’s hand in his mind, accompanying the petting of his hair with a gentle, albeit constant, pressure.

_ Drink up,  _ the fond voice in his mind insisted, and Barnabas flushed, sipping from his snifter, and awaiting Jonah’s full attention.

It would be a long time before he got it. Barnabas did not care. He was well trained. And this quiet, almost companionable observation; Jonah’s hand in his hair, an Eye in his mind, and the simple and enjoyable task of enjoying brandy and Jonah’s company was to Barnabas’s mind the sweetest torture ever devised.


End file.
